


Serendipity

by elle1991



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Destiny, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Don't copy to another site, Falling In Love, Fate, First Meetings, Fluff, Friendship, Happy Ending, Loki (Marvel)-centric, Love, M/M, Marvel Reverse Big Bang 2020, POV Loki (Marvel), Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Word Games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:19:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28409130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elle1991/pseuds/elle1991
Summary: Everyone is born with their soulmate's name imprinted somewhere on their skin.You would think that would make finding "the one" simple, but the sheer number of planets in the Universe does not actually make it any easier to find the person meant for you.Loki had almost given up on finding his soulmate, until he found himself on Sakaar by pure chance.There, he meets the flamboyant and eccentric Grandmaster - whom he finds himself strangely drawn to, as if some cosmic force is pulling them inextricably together...
Relationships: En Dwi Gast | Grandmaster/Loki
Comments: 8
Kudos: 95
Collections: Marvel Reverse Big Bang 2020





	Serendipity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nonexistenz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nonexistenz/gifts).



Loki may have been known as the God of Mischief, but what he really excelled at was being a master of illusion.

Over the years, he had developed a true talent for the art of illusion: hiding objects, projecting hallucinations, sleight of hand.

It had begun when he was a child. He had never fit in with the other children on Asgard. Whilst they had been loud, Loki had been quiet. Whilst they had found a thrill in their boisterous rough-and-tumble games, Loki had preferred the company of books. Whilst the other boys had grown up to be thickset and muscular, with ruddy complexions, Loki had always been slender, pale, with delicate, almost androgynous features. Always, Loki had been different, and growing up, he had hated it. He had longed to fit in with the other children, and so he had cast his first, rudimentary illusions: trying to fit in by changing how he presented himself, forcing himself to join in with their silly games, trying to act like them, talk like them, be like them.

Later, as childhood melted into adulthood, he gave up on fitting in. He embraced his differences. He learnt to revel in being the misfit, the weirdo, the rebel. He took a leaf out of his mother's book and threw himself into learning magic. He found joy in burying himself in spellbooks and old mythology. He learnt how to cast spells, project visual illusions and change his appearance at will. He learnt transfiguration, energy manipulation and advanced Allspeak. He became an expert in the mystic arts.

It was not just literal magic he could do. He learnt, too, of the magic-like power of words themselves. Words had the power to change minds, to manipulate situations, to make people feel whatever Loki wanted them to feel. Using words, he could paint vivid pictures without the need for ink. Using the weapon of vocabulary, he could spin the most enchanting tales, elicit emotions from fascination to horror, delight to despair, intrigue to disgust. With his famed silver tongue, paired with his mastery of tricks and illusions, he could convince anyone of anything.

For a while, he even convinced himself that he was happy.

He tricked himself into believing that he did not need to belong, that he did not need to fit in, that he was fine with being alone.

He became so good at casting illusions that he managed to delude himself that he did not care about the letters on his arm – the name of his soulmate.

Everyone was born with their soulmate's name imprinted somewhere on their skin. This "soulmark", as it was known, was meant to represent a person's true love, their ultimate fate, their unchangeable destiny. Every day, fate guided each person towards their soulmate; that one person whose name would match the one written on the other's body. Loki's soulmark was written on his right upper arm. His soulmate's name was short and simple: En.

When he had been growing up, Loki had been giddy with excitement at the prospect of meeting En. He had looked forward eagerly to meeting new people, purely in the hope that one of them might bear the name that was imprinted on his upper arm. He had longed to meet En, this one person who would understand him, whose soul would fit with his like a puzzle piece. Over time, however, that excitement had slowly turned to confusion, and later despair, as one by one, he had watched all his peers meet their soulmate and pair off, whilst Loki himself had remained single and alone.

He had never met anyone with the name En. Whilst his peers had settled down and started to have families of their own, Loki had become ever more isolated, feeling like an outcast, adrift and hopeless. His soulmark became almost like a taunt, reminding him that even on a cosmic scale, he did not fit in. Everyone he knew had met their soulmate – except Loki. Every day, his loneliness reminded him that by some terrible fluke, some cruel twist of fate, he and En had ended up with their paths never crossing. Perhaps En was dead. Or perhaps fate had been feeling a little flexible that day, and Loki and En had missed one another by a few hundred miles or by a couple of thousand years.

For a while, Loki had grieved for En. He had grieved for this love that had been meant to be, but for whatever reason had never come to fruition. He allowed himself to feel the pain, the ache in his heart, that ever-present sense of loneliness. After a while, however, the weight of his grief became exhausting, so he made up his mind to distract himself. If he filled his life with excitement, he reasoned, he would not have time to miss what he did not have.

It worked, for a while. The mess with Jotunheim had certainly been eventful. Attempting to take over Earth, whilst not successful, had been fun as well, in a twisted kind of way. Perhaps he had gone a little too far, though, in recent years. Perhaps he should have limited himself; not allowed his quest for distraction to become too wild and out of control.

That was what he was thinking as he crashed off the Bifrost Bridge, and plummeted through a wormhole that took him to the arse end of the Universe: Sakaar.

* * *

Sakaar was one of the most disgusting, odious, terrible places Loki had ever had the displeasure of being.

It was a literal trash heap of a planet, piles of stinking rubbish towering as far as the eye could see, objects raining down from a plethora of portals in the sky – one of which Loki had just had the misfortune of falling through. For a moment, he simply lay there, the wind knocked out of him, his nose wrinkling up with distaste as the stench of garbage filled his nostrils. Unsteadily, he staggered to his feet, reaching out with one hand to balance himself against a nearby rubbish heap, only to pull it away in disgust as it came away covered in some sticky, foul-smelling goo.

Loki wiped his hand clean against his leather trousers, shuddering as he looked around at his surroundings. He knew where he was – the planet of Sakaar – the unique nature of the planet giving him a big clue, even without his innate navigational abilities. He had heard a little about Sakaar over the years, but had never made any effort to give the place a visit – he had not particularly been attracted to the prospect of a world of literal trash where one wrong step felt as though it could infect him with some disgusting disease.

No, he intended to get off this godforsaken planet as quickly as possible. His gaze flicked up to the sky, taking in the portals where trash was falling through lazily. They had been his way in – which meant they could also be his way out. He smiled as a plan began to form in his mind. It was simple, in theory: steal a spaceship and fly through a portal. He just had to find a ship. Sighing with distaste, he climbed slowly to the top of the nearest trash heap, using his elevated vantage point to scan the horizon.

There! In the distance, he could make out a city – an ugly urban metropolis rising up out of the trash. Gritting his teeth with determination, he pointed himself in that direction and began to walk. It was quite possibly the most hideous walk he had ever done – smelly, treacherous, with occasional swamps of rancid, liquified garbage juice. Twice, he slipped and ended up covered in disgustingly sticky rubbish. Once, he accidentally stepped through what looked horrifyingly like the decaying remains of a Bilgesnipe, clutching his stomach as he turned and vomited onto the nearest rubbish pile. By the time he reached the city, he was tired, sweaty, covered in garbage and stinking to high heaven.

Luckily, his talent for illusions meant that – to others, at least – he was outwardly presentable. He cast a projection that meant that instead of looking as though he were covered in rubbish, he appeared to be dressed in the (clean) uniform of a space port engineer. A simple spell that triggered anosmia in those within a ten-metre radius was enough to hide the stink of rotting garbage. Using a mixture of charm and magical suggestion to wheedle directions from various passers-by, he navigated his way to the city's main space port.

He smiled as he strolled out into the ship bay, row upon row of sleek, state-of-the-art spaceships simply laid out for him. He paused, licking his lips hungrily as he spotted a luxury orange space cruiser parked on an elevated plinth. It looked fast, powerful and comfortable. The bright orange paint job was perhaps a little gaudy for Loki's usual taste – but, he supposed, stealers could not be choosers. He walked up to it, running a hand along the metal appreciatively. Oh yes, this would do nicely. He smiled. It was like stealing candy from a baby – too easy not to give into temptation.

"What are you doing?"

Loki whirled around, coming face to face with a man who had somehow managed to sneak up behind him. The man was leaning casually against a nearby ship, his large brown eyes peering at Loki intently, one blue-painted nail tapping against his chin to the beat of some invisible music. The man had an interesting face – handsome, with a blue line painted down his chin, dark eyeliner framing his eyes, and thick grey hair swept up to form an impressive quiff. He was wearing long, gold-coloured robes that flowed elegantly over a blue and crimson tunic. He had a flashy, eccentric, stylish appearance – something that had Loki feeling incredibly inferior in his garbage-covered clothes. Thank goodness his illusions meant that the other man could not see his true dishevelled appearance.

Immediately, Loki plastered a smile onto his face, feigning confidence as he gestured to the flashy orange ship.

"This is my ship," said Loki.

For a moment, the other man looked surprised, before clapping his hands as if Loki had just said something extremely entertaining, a huge grin spreading over his face.

"Oh, is this a game _?_ " said the other man excitedly. "Because, you know, that's _my_ ship. So, are we doing a little roleplay or something? Where we pretend it's _your_ ship, because you're me? Hmm, a little switch-a-roo?"

Loki stared at the man incredulously. What was happening? Had this man lost his mind? Was he on drugs? Loki brushed aside the nonsense about games and roleplay, focusing instead on the salient information: that the swanky orange ship that Loki had been intent on stealing apparently belonged to this strange, golden-robed man.

Loki shook his head graciously, bowing slightly in deference.

"Pardon me, I misspoke," said Loki. "What I meant is that I'm just here to do some routine maintenance on your ship."

The man's eyebrows shot up his forehead. His eyes raked up and down Loki's body, a look of amusement settling over his features.

"Dressed like that?" said the man.

Loki looked down, making sure that he was indeed projecting the illusion of a space port engineer's uniform. He was. He frowned slightly, puzzled by the man's question. Pushing a little more magical suggestion into his next words, Loki nodded.

"Yes," he said. "I work in maintenance."

To Loki's surprise, the man simply laughed, staring pointedly at Loki's clothes as if he were wearing the most amusing outfit the man had ever seen.

"You're wearing leather. Covered in trash..." said the man. "I'm not saying it's not a sexy look! But darling, you're not maintenance."

Loki stared at him, his mind stuttering to a halt at the stunning realisation that this man, whoever he was, was able to see straight through Loki's magic. It should not be possible. Only a very powerful magical being could have the ability to see through a spell as strong and complex as the one Loki was currently casting. This mysterious man was apparently a lot smarter, and a lot more powerful, than Loki had initially given him credit for. Loki's guard immediately went up. He could not underestimate this man. To do so could be dangerous.

"Who are you?" said Loki, allowing the illusion to fade away as he dropped all pretence at being the maintenance man.

The man smiled, framing his face with his hands as if putting himself into the frame of a portrait.

"I'm the Grandmaster," he said. "The ruler of this planet. Kind of a big deal, not to boast, just a fact..."

Loki resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The Grandmaster? Seriously? It was the most cringeworthy name he had ever heard. Apparently, it did not matter how far you travelled across time and space – some things remained the same. He had met people like the Grandmaster countless times before. Just another world, just another ego.

"Oh, I'm much more than just an ego," chuckled the Grandmaster.

Loki startled, suddenly uneasy. The Grandmaster, it seemed, could hear his thoughts.

"You have magic," said Loki.

It was a statement more than a question, but the Grandmaster nodded anyway.

"Yes," said the Grandmaster, his intelligent brown eyes sweeping up and down Loki, before widening excitedly. "As do you! You have more magic flowing through your veins than anyone I've met in a long time. What did you say your name was again?"

"The God of Mischief," said Loki.

So, the Grandmaster had a stupid moniker; two could play at that game.

The Grandmaster's eyes immediately lit up with delight. He clapped his hands with almost child-like glee, his cheeks flushed with excitement.

"The God of Mischief!" he said. "Oh, how fun! The games we could play together..."

His eyes glazed over, as if his imagination had transported him to some happy place.

"Games?" prompted Loki, after several long seconds of silence.

The Grandmaster jerked out of his reverie, striding forward to clasp Loki by the shoulders, a wide grin stretching his face.

"Yes, games!" said the Grandmaster. "How do you feel about seeing one of the most exciting games this part of the Universe has to offer? The Contest of Champions is happening tonight. Think gladiators – but with aliens. It's fun! Please, stay. Be my guest. I'd love to hear more about all the naughty _mischief_ you get yourself into."

Loki hesitated. This was not part of the plan. All he wanted to do was steal a goddamn ship and get off this literal dumpster fire of a planet. For a moment, his mind wandered. The Grandmaster did not look particularly physically imposing; Loki could probably kill him or disable him long enough to steal his ship, without too much difficulty.

But... something stopped him. 

For some reason that he could not entirely pin down, he was oddly drawn to the Grandmaster and his eccentric charm. Plus, admittedly, he was curious about the Contest of Champions. A gladiatorial battle with aliens was not something you saw every day. Why not, his mind whispered? Sure, he had not planned on ending up on Sakaar, but since he was here, he might as well see the sights. He could simply steal the Grandmaster's ship tomorrow, instead.

Loki smiled.

"It would be my pleasure," he said.

* * *

The Contest of Champions was the single most popular spectator sport on Sakaar.

The Grandmaster explained it a little en route to the arena, but it was not until Loki saw the sheer size of the crowds filling the stands that he quite grasped the magnitude of the event. Thousands upon thousands of people of all shapes, sizes and species filled the huge circular arena, crammed into their seats, shouting and cheering as they amped themselves up for the impending fight.

The concept of the game was simple. The Grandmaster had a fighter, an absolute beast of a man apparently, who was the Champion. Each fight night, a Contender would engage in a gladiatorial battle with the Champion, in an attempt to steal his crown as the top fighter on Sakaar. It sounded fun, albeit in a basic, violent way.

As the Grandmaster's guest, Loki did not have to sit amongst the crowded stands, but instead had the privilege of being inside the Grandmaster's very own luxury suite at the top of the arena. The suite was large, opulent and flashy, with colourful art painted on the walls, an open bar, and a plush, comfortable white sofa. Presently, Loki was sampling a wide array of Sakaarian delicacies, courtesy of the Grandmaster. When his host had heard that Loki had never tried Sakaarian food or drink before, the Grandmaster had immediately ordered his staff to provide little samples of the finest cuisine Sakaar had to offer. It was surprisingly tasty, something that Loki had not been expecting.

"This is delicious," said Loki, waving a fork of some juicy meat. "What did you say this was again?"

"Sky boar testicle," said the Grandmaster eagerly. "I can get the staff to cook up more testicles, if you're a fan?"

Loki swallowed, before putting down the fork delicately.

"Perhaps not," he said politely.

"Try some Sakaarian wine, then," said the Grandmaster. "I sing to the grapes myself, to make sure they produce the very best flavours!"

Loki smiled, taking the proffered wine and taking a long sip. He hummed with interest. It had a rich, decadent taste – fruity but spicy and obviously extremely alcoholic. His lips quirked with amusement at the idea of the Grandmaster singing to the grape vines. In the short amount of time he had got to know the Grandmaster, he had learnt that he was unique and eccentric, with a fascinating, warm, other-worldly feel to him.

The Grandmaster seemed to be equally captivated by Loki. He seemed to find delight in the fact that Loki was new to Sakaar, with the Grandmaster proudly showing off all that the planet had to offer, as if he were a planetary ambassador (which, in a way, he was). He asked Loki many questions, intrigued by his aura of mystery, his magic, his mind.

Loki found himself greatly enjoying conversation with the Grandmaster. He was intelligent, quick-witted and quirky. The fact that he was gorgeous did not hurt, either. Loki sometimes found himself gazing into the Grandmaster's expressive brown eyes, losing himself in the shimmering, hypnotising colour – like a forest floor, or the shade of fallen twigs in autumn, or the quivering fur of a dormouse.

Suddenly, Loki's stomach lurched sickeningly. He swayed slightly on the spot, taken aback by the sudden feeling of queasiness. He put down the Sakaarian wine on a nearby tray, closing his eyes and breathing deeply as he regained his composure. Perhaps the wine was a little too strong, or a little too foreign, for his body to handle. He opened his eyes to find the Grandmaster looking at him in concern. Swallowing back bile, he waved aside his concerns with a smile and a wave of his hand.

"I'm fine," said Loki. "The wine got to my head, that's all."

The Grandmaster looked unconvinced, but did not press the issue.

"Sit down, God of Mischief," said the Grandmaster. "The Contest of Champions is about to begin! Oh, wait until you see my Champion – he's a sight to behold..."

Loki gratefully took the opportunity to sit down, thankful to be able to rest momentarily as he recovered from his temporary bout of nausea. Outside their glass-fronted booth, the crowd was working itself into a frenzy, chanting for the Contest of Champions to begin, waving banners excitedly as they hollered for the fighters to come out into the arena.

The Grandmaster stood up, a hologram of his image being projected into the middle of the stadium as he greeted the cheering crowd.

"Hellooo everybody!" he said, his voice booming out across the stadium through hidden speakers. "What a show! What a night! Thank you all for coming. As always, I'm your host, the Grandmaster! Who's having a fun evening? Are you ready to meet tonight's fighters?"

The crowd screamed with excitement, clapping and stamping as they cheered for the games to begin.

"Alright!" said the Grandmaster. "Let's meet our contender. He's fierce! He's got a mace and shield! He's got four arms too, maybe they'll come in useful for punching, who knows? Let me introduce... _Doug!_ "

Down in the arena, a six-limbed gladiator entered the ring. He was muscular, purple-skinned and, as far as Loki could see, jumping from foot to foot with excitement. The crowd gave a cheer, a few of them shouting Doug's name in encouragement. Eventually, a hush fell over the stadium, everyone waiting for the second fighter to come out. A sense of electric suspense was building amongst the crowd. Loki leaned forwards in his seat, sucked in by the emotion and the theatre of it all. Just what was so special about the Champion that had everyone holding their breath in anticipation?

"And now, let's bring out the man you've all been waiting for!" said the Grandmaster. "He's our reigning champion. He's unique. He's undefeated. Ladies and gentleman, let me introduce the spectacular... the incredible... _Hulk!_ "

A large door at one side of the arena opened, revealing a horribly familiar sight. Loki stared in shock and horrified disbelief as the Hulk came bounding out into the centre of the arena, as huge and green as Loki remembered him being in New York, when the beast had attacked Loki and smashed him repeatedly into the floor at Stark Tower. Fear clawed at Loki's throat, raw and visceral. What on earth was the Hulk doing on Sakaar? How the hell had he ended up here? The Hulk let out an ear-splitting roar, causing the crowd to erupt into a fresh bout of cheering.

Loki could not take it anymore. He could not be on the same planet as the Hulk. He had to get out of there. He lurched to his feet, pushing his way past the Grandmaster and the other guests, staggering blindly for the door out to the corridor. His heart was hammering, his vision blurring, that horrible sense of nausea returning to him once more.

Loki stumbled out into the corridor, gasping for air. Something was wrong, he realised. It was not simply the panic of seeing the Hulk, or a side effect of the strong Sakaarian wine. Something was wrong _with him_. His legs gave way beneath him, causing him to collapse to his knees. He tried to support himself against the wall, but found himself slipping sideways, ending up on his back, his vision beginning to fade as sweat prickled violently across his forehead.

"God of Mischief! What's wrong? Are you OK? Is this a prank?"

The Grandmaster had rushed out after him and was kneeling by his side. He looked distressed, his brown eyes wide with panic as he called for a doctor. Loki tried to speak, but found that he barely had the energy to keep his eyes open. He could not think. He could barely breathe.

He focused on the Grandmaster's face, on that beautiful blue line that traced down his chin, and passed out.

* * *

Loki woke up in a soft, comfortable bed.

He opened his eyes groggily, his vision taking a moment to adjust as he took in his surroundings. He blinked with confusion, momentarily disoriented as his memory caught up with him. Ah, yes, he had collapsed. But where was he now? He looked around the large plush room, taking in the expensive furniture dotted around and the chic art on the walls. His bed was littered with comfortable pillows, the mattress the perfect balance between firm and soft, the blanket gentle against his skin. The lights were turned down low so as not to hurt his eyes.

"God of Mischief, are you awake?" said a voice to his left.

Loki turned his head towards the source of the noise, immediately regretting it as his vision lurched sickeningly, triggering a fresh wave of nausea. He groaned, screwing his eyes shut, waiting for the sensation of sickness to pass, before slowly re-opening them and taking in the sight of the Grandmaster. The Grandmaster was sat perched on a chair beside Loki's bed, his large brown eyes wide with worry, his usual easy smile replaced by a look of concern.

"Where am I?" croaked Loki, his throat scratchy and dry.

The Grandmaster waved his hand, and suddenly he was holding a goblet of water. He placed it gently against Loki's lips, urging him to drink. Loki did so slowly, closing his eyes with relief as the cool water soothed his parched throat.

"You're in a guest room in my private quarters," said the Grandmaster. "Don't worry, no riff-raff is allowed in this part of the building."

Loki let out a soft huff of laughter. It was sweet, in a way, that the other man had thought this might be important to him.

"How are you feeling?" said the Grandmaster.

Loki considered it. Every movement of his head triggered feelings of nausea and dizziness. His muscles felt weak, almost like jelly. There was a deep ache behind his eyes, as if he were exhausted. His body screamed for rest.

"Sick, weak, dizzy," said Loki.

The Grandmaster frowned to himself, nibbling his lower lip between his teeth. He placed a hand on Loki's forehead, his hand glowing momentarily. Loki felt a pulse of magic go through him, as the Grandmaster gave him a once-over.

"You have Wormhole Sickness," said the Grandmaster, almost apologetically. "It affects some people when they first arrive on Sakaar. It's an effect of the wormholes. The warping of time and space can really mess with some people's bodies. It's unpleasant, but non-fatal. Most people fully recover after a couple of months of bed rest."

Loki's eyes widened with horror.

"Months?!" he said.

"Don't worry," said the Grandmaster hurriedly. "I'll make sure you're looked after until you're well enough to leave."

Loki narrowed his eyes with suspicion.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" he said.

"Why wouldn't I be nice to you?" said the Grandmaster.

Loki raised his eyebrows sceptically. When he spoke next, he ticked his points off on his fingers.

"I turned up uninvited on your planet, broke into your space port covered in trash, and tried to steal your ship," he said. "Most people would have just kicked me through the nearest wormhole."

The Grandmaster smiled.

"I'm not most people," he said simply.

Loki studied his face carefully, looking for any signs of mocking or deceit. After a moment, to his surprise, he realised that he could not find any. The Grandmaster was not lying.

"Who are you?" said Loki.

"I've told you," he said. "I'm the Grandmaster. I'm the ruler of Sakaar."

"What more than that?" pressed Loki.

The Grandmaster smiled, as if pleased by Loki's unwavering and unabashed curiosity. The other man paused for a moment, as if thinking deeply about how to answer. Loki could practically see the cogs turning in his head, as if he were deciding just how much to reveal, just how many layers of his mystery he should pull back and expose.

"I'm millions of years old," the Grandmaster said eventually. "I'm a magic user. I can do telepathy, teleportation and telekinesis – if I want to. Most of the time, I don't bother. It's more fun just to let things happen at their own pace, you know? I like games. I like stories. I like... _you_."

Loki blinked, taken aback by the last part. They had known each other for barely 24 hours. How could the Grandmaster possibly like him?

"Me?" said Loki, unsure if he had heard him correctly.

"Yes," said the Grandmaster, looking just as puzzled by it as Loki felt. "I don't know why. You just seem... different... from most people who pass through these parts. You're interesting. You're intelligent. There's something about you that..."

He gestured his hand vaguely, as if trying to grasp the words he was looking for. Eventually, he gave up.

"I don't know," finished the Grandmaster. "I just like you."

They lapsed into silence. Loki thought about the Grandmaster's words. He was surprised that the Grandmaster had taken such a strong liking to him in such a short space of time. Not that he was complaining; it was certainly useful to have the favour of such a powerful being, especially when Loki was helpless and bed bound, possibly for the foreseeable future.

His attention turned to another thing the Grandmaster had said: that he was millions of years old. Even to Loki, who was thousands of years old, it seemed like a very long time to be alive. He wondered if the Grandmaster got bored. Perhaps, that was why he liked games so much. It would certainly explain his almost manic enthusiasm for the Contest of Champions.

"Is everyone on Sakaar as old as you?" said Loki.

"No," said the Grandmaster quietly. "I'm the only one of my kind here."

Loki felt a pang of sympathy for him. To be the only one of his kind in the world must be a very lonely experience. He sensed, however, that the Grandmaster was not looking for pity, so he swallowed back his commiserations and instead said, almost casually:

"I know a little of what that's like. To be alone. To be different."

The Grandmaster turned to him with a fascinated gaze.

"Tell me more," said the Grandmaster.

So, Loki did.

* * *

Loki slowly began to recover from his Wormhole Sickness.

It was a long, arduous process, but every day he felt a little stronger, a little less nauseous, than the day before. He was not yet at the stage where he was able to get out of bed (he had tried, a couple of times, and had immediately been overcome by dizziness and faintness), but that did not matter too much, because he did not actually _need_ to get out of bed. True to his word, the Grandmaster ensured that his staff took good care of Loki. They brought him food and water, made sure he was comfortable, and took care of his toileting needs. For large parts of the day, Loki slept, recovering his strength, but he always made sure he was awake for the evenings.

The evenings were his favourite time of day, because that was when the Grandmaster would come to spend time with him. He came to see him at the same time, every night, like clockwork. It became their little ritual: after dinner, the Grandmaster would arrive at Loki's quarters, pull up a chair beside his bed, and they would talk until Loki succumbed to his exhaustion and fell back asleep.

They talked about all sorts of things: their magic, their pasts, their silliest stories. And, because the Grandmaster was so fond of games, it did not take long for him to one day come up with their very own game to play: Word Of The Day. The rules of Word Of The Day were simple. Every day, they would take it in turns to choose an interesting, obscure word. Then, whoever had chosen the word would tell a story about themselves that related to the word, explaining why the word had a special meaning to them. It was a fun, albeit unconventional, way to learn more about one another.

As the inventor of the game, the Grandmaster chose the first word.

"Higgledy-piggledy."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Higgledy-piggledy!" repeated the Grandmaster excitedly. "It describes something messy, chaotic, disordered. I love higgledy-piggledy – the sound of it, the concept, everything! I think some of the most beautiful things in the Universe are higgledy-piggledy."

Loki smiled, both bemused and amused.

"Do go on," he said.

"Have you ever seen a nebula in space?" said the Grandmaster. "It's a huge messy cloud of interstellar gas. Hydrogen, helium, dust. All of it is higgledy-piggledy, but damn it if it isn't one of the most beautiful sights you'll ever see in the night sky."

"Nebulae are beautiful," admitted Loki.

"And hey, you can't get any more higgledy-piggledy than Sakaar," said the Grandmaster with a laugh. "It's not a natural planet – you know that, right? It's an artificial planet, made up of compacted layers of trash, made into a living planetary ecosystem. You get everything here. Every forgotten or unwanted thing. Every type of person. Every type of story. Sakaar is higgledy-piggledy, oh yes! A brilliant, terrible mess! This is one of the most bizarre and strange places in the Universe. No wonder I love it here!"

Loki laughed, shaking his head.

"You're ridiculous," he said.

But there was no venom in his words.

The Grandmaster's ridiculousness was, strangely, a core part of his charm.

Loki liked it very much – every random and eccentric quirk – because without all of his ridiculousness, the Grandmaster would not be the Grandmaster at all.

* * *

The next evening, it was Loki's turn to come up with a Word Of The Day.

"Bamboozle – meaning to confuse, to perplex, to mystify."

The Grandmaster leaned forward excitedly, his eyes shining with pure glee at Loki's choice of word.

"Ooh, I love it!" he said. "Tell me more, God of Mischief! I bet you've played so many tricks on people to bamboozle them, am I right?"

The Grandmaster was almost quivering with anticipation. Loki's lips curved into a smile. It had been a while since he could remember having someone hanging onto his every word with as much enthusiasm as the Grandmaster. It was sweet, really, that the eccentric man was so delighted by Loki's penchant for mischief.

"I've bamboozled people so hard it's made their heads spin," smirked Loki. "They don't call me the God of Mischief for nothing."

The Grandmaster cackled with delight, placing his chin in his hands as he leaned forward, his attention rapt as he gazed at Loki dreamily. He gave Loki a coquettish, closed-lipped smile, looking at him through his eyelashes. It was a strangely flirtatious gesture, rather at odds with the situation, yet somehow perfectly fitting the Grandmaster's peculiar mannerisms.

"Tell me some of the ways you've bamboozled people with your tricks," he said huskily. "I love pranks. Pranks are such fun games to play."

Loki smiled, thinking back over all the best tricks he had ever done, trying to pick out the most interesting ones for the Grandmaster's entertainment. There was a lot of material to choose from, but a few special ones rose to the forefront of his mind, making him chuckle fondly at the memories.

"One of the first tricks I ever played was on my brother, Thor," said Loki. "We were around five, at the time. Every morning, he would hide my shoes. It was a stupid game. He thought it was funny, but it was more annoying than anything, because he always hid them in the same idiotic place – behind the toilet. One day, I decided enough was enough. I sneaked outside early one morning, brought back a load of slime from a swamp, and filled every single one of his shoes with swamp slime. I'll never forget the look on his face when he plunged his feet into that green goo. He screamed. It was glorious. One of the best moments of my young life..."

The Grandmaster giggled with delight, his eyes shining with amusement as he listened. He looked eagerly at Loki, wordlessly urging him to go on and provide more fun examples of his bamboozling pranks.

"Many thousands of years later, on Earth, I decided to have some fun with one of their so-called superheroes," continued Loki. "Earth has this ragtag group of fighters – Avengers, they call themselves – including one man who calls himself Captain America. He's serious, sincere, solemn. Perfect for pranking... By then, I'd perfected the art of illusion and transformation, so one day, I decided to transform myself to look and sound exactly like the good Captain, and went to the US Department of Education to offer my services and recorded dozens of ridiculous little videos for them to show in schools across the country. _So, you've got detention... So, your body's changing... So, you want to take the Captain America fitness challenge..._ It was all perfectly acceptable content, nothing offensive or unsuitable for children. But then, when the tapes were distributed all across the country to every single school in America... Well, you can imagine the real Captain America's bamboozlement."

The Grandmaster screeched with excitement, clapping his hands as he laughed heartily to himself. He licked his lips, his face becoming glazed over as the story sparked a slew of prank ideas in his mind.

"Oh, once you're well enough, we _have_ to do something like that!" said the Grandmaster. "Can you transform yourself into anyone? I have a bodyguard, Topaz, who I'd _love_ to prank! Oh, this could be incredible..."

Loki smiled. He vaguely remembered meeting the Grandmaster's bodyguard, Topaz. She was a strong, sturdy woman, with the severe face of a warrior. She could indeed be a fascinating person to prank.

"Most recently, I've been trying to master olfactory illusions," said Loki. "Temporarily removing someone's sense of smell is easy, but generating an entirely new smell is harder. Once I've got the hang of it, I want to play a prank where the smell of farts follows the victim around. I think that has great prank potential. It would certainly be – what was our Word Of The Day, again? – bamboozling."

The Grandmaster was nodding enthusiastically, his excitement written plain across his features, his eyes shining with joy.

"Oh, God of Mischief, you're so _naughty!_ " he said. "So much _fun!_ I love pranks – so, so much."

The Grandmaster clapped his hands together with almost child-like glee. His delight was obvious, his happiness radiating off him in waves.

And, for some reason, the fact that the Grandmaster was happy made Loki happy too.

* * *

Several weeks later, Loki felt well enough to leave his bed, albeit confined to the safety of a wheelchair. The swirling nausea that had engulfed his body whenever he moved his head had finally gone, although trying to stand still brought about an unpleasant sensation of dizziness. Hence, the wheelchair. It was progress – slow gradual progress, but progress nonetheless.

The Grandmaster was thrilled by Loki's improvement, so to celebrate, he announced that he was treating them to a luxury dinner beneath the stars. Loki was given a warm fur cloak to wear over his pyjamas, and then the Grandmaster was pushing his wheelchair out of the guest suite and towards a lift that took them to the top of the building. It was the first time that Loki had left his quarters since he had fallen ill with Wormhole Sickness, and he looked around with interest as the Grandmaster pushed him to their destination.

The journey in the lift took longer than expected, giving Loki a real sense of the height and the grand scale of the building for the first time. The lift doors opened, revealing a rooftop terrace on the top of the high-rise building, adorned with exotic plant life in stylish gold-trimmed pots. A chic table for two was already laid out for them, littered with an abundance of small plates of food for the two of them to share. They emerged onto the terrace, Loki gasping slightly at the sight before him. It was not the sophisticated decor of the terrace that had so stunned him, however, nor was it the delicious spread of food; it was the night sky.

From up here, at the top of the Grandmaster's personal tower, they had an uninterrupted view for miles around, their line of sight stretching all the way to the horizon. Since it was night, the mountains of trash were invisible, coated by a blanket of darkness. And, most spectacularly, there were the wormholes. Dozens of wormholes hung in the night sky, each one emitting a beautiful glow, like an aurora. The different wormholes glowed different colours, a beautiful, celestial mix of delicate hues. It was overwhelmingly, unexpectedly, viscerally beautiful. Loki found himself – for once – lost for words, bowled over by the stunning nature of what he was witnessing.

"This is beautiful," he said finally. "I had no idea Sakaar could be so beautiful."

"Not bad, huh?" said the Grandmaster, smiling as he took his seat beside Loki at the table.

Loki pointed to the largest wormhole, which was glowing red, fiery tendrils of light pouring from its opening.

"What's that one called?" he said.

"The Devil's Anus!" said the Grandmaster, sniggering as he dropped Loki a sultry wink. "It's a sexy name, right?"

Loki smiled, shaking his head with bemusement. He was about to make some dry, witty retort, when he caught sight of the twinkle in the Grandmaster's eye. Loki's breath caught in his throat, the sarcastic reply dying on his lips as he gazed at the Grandmaster's features. The other man's face was delicately lit by the soft glow emanating from the wormholes. Loki realised, suddenly, that the Grandmaster was a very beautiful man. Loki's heart fluttered in his chest. He was taken by the sudden, nonsensical urge to reach out and touch that beautiful face, to learn the shape of it more intimately with his fingers.

Over the course of his time on Sakaar, Loki had developed a particular type of fondness for the Grandmaster. At first, he had seen the Grandmaster merely as a means to an end – a man to steal a ship from, and then, later, a man to ingratiate himself to so that he could secure care until he recovered from his Wormhole Sickness. Somewhere along the way, though, Loki had developed real feelings for the man, real affection. Now, he genuinely liked the Grandmaster. He liked his quirky personality and sharp mind and even sharper wit. He considered him to be a friend. He was even beginning to wonder if he were starting to have feelings that went beyond that...

The Grandmaster's hand was lying casually on the table. Loki imagined what it would be like to take that hand, to hold it, to feel the warmth of the other man's skin against his own. Wait... where were these thoughts coming from? He shook his head, clearing his throat as he pushed the inappropriate thoughts away. Instead, he simply smiled, picking up a morsel of food from a nearby sharing platter and popping it into his mouth.

"So, you told me, a while back, that you were the only one of your kind here on Sakaar," said Loki. "What's the story behind that?"

He was hungry to know more about the Grandmaster's life. He was fascinated by him, this eccentric enigma wrapped up in a golden cloak of mystery. The Grandmaster smiled at Loki's question, picking up something that looked like a tentacle from a nearby plate and nibbling on it delicately.

"Sit tight on that pert little rear of yours, because this is quite the story," said the Grandmaster, throwing one hand in the air dramatically to frame his face. "I'm one of the Elders of the Universe. I've seen the Universe grow and develop. I've seen stars be born and die. To see all that constant change, all that birth, all that _death_... It can drive you insane if you stand still and let it overwhelm you."

Loki tried to imagine it. He was not exactly young himself – he was thousands of years old – but even he could not imagine what it must be like to see the Universe on these truly enormous timescales; to see the birth of galaxies, to experience the evolution of life on distant planets, to bear witness to the changing of the cosmos.

"How did you cope?" asked Loki. "How did you stop it from overwhelming you?"

The Grandmaster smiled.

"I ran away," he said. "I pointed myself in one direction and kept going. I tried to find the very edge of the Universe. It took a few million years, but eventually, I found it: Sakaar. A place surrounded by wormholes. Trash raining down from other parts of the Universe, all ending up here, forming this artificial world. This is a place unlike any other. On the edge of the known and the unknown. A place where lost souls are found. Even time works differently here. As soon as I got here, I knew I was home."

"It must have been strange, when you first found this place," mused Loki.

The Grandmaster shrugged.

"It may be a strange, mad place, but it's just one strange, mad place in a strange, mad Universe," he said. "It's an interesting place, if nothing else, to spend my years and play my games."

Loki thought about it. He thought about the Contest of Champions, and Word Of The Day, and all the other games the Grandmaster had no doubt played over the millennia.

"Do you ever get bored, despite all your games?" said Loki.

"Of course!" said the Grandmaster. "I used to get bored all the time. But do you know something strange?"

Loki shook his head.

"What?" he said.

"Since you fell through that wormhole one month ago," the Grandmaster said softly, "I haven't been bored once."

* * *

Over the course of the next few weeks, Loki continued to grow stronger – and with it, his affection for the Grandmaster grew as well. The more he learnt about him, the more he wanted to know. The Grandmaster was fascinating, beautiful, unexpected, brilliant. Loki found himself looking forward impatiently to the evenings, because that was the time that they could spend together, alone, with no distractions, just hours nested away in Loki's guest room, getting to know one another's minds.

Their Word Of The Day game spawned some true linguistic gems: gobbledygook, scrumptious, balderdash, nefarious and codswallop, amongst many others. Each word triggered a slew of stories, of memories, of learning new things about one another. Each new revelation was like a gift, like peeling back the layers of an onion and getting to know the real man hidden beneath. With each new word, they got closer – both emotionally and physically. There was nothing lewd about it, this new, physical dimension to their friendship; just little touches to one another's hands occasionally, or a gentle stroke to one's cheek, or a hug at the end of each night before the Grandmaster would retire to his own room.

It was about two months after Loki first arrived on Sakaar that the Grandmaster chose a Word Of The Day that, unbeknownst to them, would change both of their lives forever.

"Soulmark."

At the Grandmaster's word, Loki immediately felt his mood dip. That old, familiar sadness settled over him; that grief for his soulmate who never was: En. He remembered, with painful clarity, how full of hope he had been when he was younger at the prospect of meeting En, only to have that hope slowly eroded away as time had passed and En had failed to enter his life. Loki did not especially want to talk about that, so he deflected, putting on an air of slight indifference as he replied.

"I don't particularly care for soulmarks or soulmates," lied Loki. "What about you?"

He half-expected the Grandmaster to make some witty or whacky remark, as was so delightfully common whenever they played this game, but instead, to Loki's surprise, the Grandmaster simply sighed, his large brown eyes becoming downcast as he fiddled despondently with the sleeves of his golden robes.

"I never met my soulmate," said the Grandmaster. "I feel very sad about it, sometimes; very lonely. I can't help thinking that life would be a lot more fun with a soulmate by my side."

Loki felt a pang of sympathy for him. He knew exactly how wretched it was to go through life without one's soulmate. He understood, suddenly, why the Grandmaster clung so tightly to his games; they were his coping mechanism, his distraction, his thing to fill the time so that he would not have to think about the gaping hole in his life left by the absence of his one true love.

"I'm sorry," murmured Loki. "That's hard."

The Grandmaster shrugged, grimacing slightly.

"I try not to think about it," he said. "I used to ask everyone who turned up on Sakaar what their name was, in case it matched my soulmark. I gave up a few thousand years ago, though. It got too hard to hear them say the wrong name."

Loki raised a questioning eyebrow, quirking a smile in an attempt to lift the Grandmaster's spirits.

"Wouldn't it have been easier to announce _your_ name?" he said. "There can't be too many people walking around with the word _Grandmaster_ imprinted on their body."

The Grandmaster gave an unexpected laugh, his face crinkling into smile lines that caused Loki's heart to flutter momentarily.

"You know that's not my real name, right?" teased the Grandmaster.

Loki frowned. To be honest, he had not really thought about it. The Grandmaster was so charismatic, so powerful, so dazzling, that it had not crossed Loki's mind that he might go by any other name. _Grandmaster_ suited him just perfectly.

"What is your name, then?" said Loki, feeling slightly foolish.

The Grandmaster immediately became flustered, waving his hand as if trying to dispel the question from the air. His cheeks flushed red, his eyes darting around as he ducked his head.

"It's a stupid name, you don't want to hear it," he said.

This, of course, only made Loki lean forwards with anticipation, suddenly filled with a hunger to know nothing more than the Grandmaster's real name. The other man's shyness was something Loki had never witnessed before. It fascinated him, his curiosity now well and truly piqued.

"What is it?" demanded Loki. "It can't be that bad! Unless you're telling me that your name is something like Buttface."

The Grandmaster pretended to consider it, humming to himself as he ran a finger along the blue line that went down the middle of his chin.

"Buttface! I like it!" he said. "It's kind of sexy. Do you think I could pull it off? _Hey, my name's Buttface, pleasure to meet you..._ "

Loki ground his teeth in frustration.

"Tell me!" he said.

The Grandmaster huffed a little indignantly, folding his arms.

"I don't know _your_ real name either," he said defensively, "since I'm guessing your parents didn't actually name you God of Mischief!"

Loki smiled, spreading his arms open wide in a welcoming gesture.

"Fine," he said. "You tell me yours, and I'll tell you mine."

There was something very intimate about the idea of sharing their real names with one another. All the time they had known each other, they had hidden behind pseudonyms; facades that they had built up over the years to protect themselves: the "Grandmaster" and the "God of Mischief". To tell one another their real names – their rawest, truest selves – felt like something deeply meaningful, personal and precious. Loki's heart beat a little faster at the prospect, warmth spreading through him at the thought. He was ready to reveal his real name to the Grandmaster – but was the Grandmaster ready to do the same? The other man had gone uncharacteristically quiet, his brown eyes contemplative as they bored into Loki's green ones.

Loki reached out and took the Grandmaster's hand in his own, sweeping a thumb over the back of his hand to soothe him. At some point in the last two months, that had become a thing. They were both tactile people, and as their friendship had developed, so had this new physical dimension to their relationship. The Grandmaster's gaze dropped to stare at their interlinked hands, before he finally shook his head with a bemused smile, as if awakening from a reverie. His gaze was soft as he looked up at Loki, at last ready to reveal this most secret, personal, hidden part of himself.

"My name is En."

Loki's train of thought stuttered to a halt. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest, sweat erupting across his skin as his mouth went dry. On his arm, his soulmark almost felt as if it were burning. En? Had the Grandmaster said _En_? No... Could it be? For so long, Loki had thought that he had somehow lost his soulmate. He had thought some cosmic fluke had kept them apart, a cruel twist of fate meaning that they had sailed past one another like ships in the night. What if, instead, fate had simply been waiting patiently, observing the passage of time and slowly, over the course of millennia, nudged them gently on their inevitable paths towards a collision point? Could the Grandmaster be his soulmate? Could the Grandmaster be his En?

The Grandmaster had noticed the abrupt sweatiness of Loki's hand in his own and the sudden pallor of his skin. The other man looked at him in concern, his head cocked to the side, one hand reaching out to rest against Loki's forehead.

"Are you OK?" he said. "What's wrong? Is it the Wormhole Sickness? Do you need to lie down?"

Loki shook his head, exhaling shakily as he fought to compose himself. He attempted to gather his thoughts, which had scattered in all directions when the Grandmaster had dropped his bombshell, struggling to organise his thinking into coherent words.

"I've... I've known that name for the longest time," Loki said finally. "Even though I've never met anyone with that name before."

"I don't understand," said the Grandmaster, frowning.

Loki could not say the words: _I think you might be my soulmate._ The sentence was too loaded, too real, too terrifying, to say out loud – so Loki simply pulled up the sleeve of his tunic, revealing the name that had been imprinted on his skin for as long as he could remember: En.

The Grandmaster's eyes widened when he saw the name on Loki's arm, one hand reaching out to trace the letters tentatively. The Grandmaster leaned in close to examine it, as if barely able to believe what he was seeing. His eyes were wide, his pupils blown to such proportions that his irises were the thinnest of brown rings.

"Your soulmark?" said the Grandmaster, his voice hushed.

Loki nodded, his throat too tight to speak.

The Grandmaster finally wrenched his gaze away from Loki's arm, reaching down to pull up his own sleeve, before stopping, fear flashing momentarily through his eyes.

"Tell me your name," said the Grandmaster. "Please."

He was begging, his voice tight and desperate. Loki tried to imagine how he must be feeling. An Elder of the Universe, millions of years old – and all of that time spent alone, waiting for a soulmate who had never come. The anticipation, the fear of disappointment, must be unbearable. Loki swallowed back his own nerves and did the kindest thing he could: he said it quickly.

"My name is Loki."

The Grandmaster let out a noise somewhere between a shout and a sob, pulling up his sleeve to reveal his soulmark, four black letters imprinted on his upper arm: Loki.

Loki stared at his own name, stunned. It felt as though his mind had just been subjected to whiplash. The air evacuated his lungs. Something was building up in his throat, although he could not be sure if it were a sob, or a laugh, or simply a scream of joy. He was floundering, his mind tossed into disarray, when suddenly there were two strong hands framing his face, grounding him, warm and solid and safe. Loki focused on the man in front of him, finding that he looked just as shocked as Loki felt. Slowly, a grin spread across the Grandmaster's face – beautiful, wild, pure. On instinct, Loki reached out and cupped that beautiful face, his head spinning as the truth slowly began to sink in.

The Grandmaster was his soulmate.

The Grandmaster was En.

"Loki," said En. "My Loki."

And then, Loki felt En's arms wrapping themselves around him, and Loki was hugging him back just as tightly, his heart swelling with love and happiness as he embraced En, his soulmate, his true love.

* * *

It was around two weeks later that Loki finally fully recovered from his Wormhole Sickness.

He got to his feet, relieved to finally be free of those crippling waves of nausea, and smiled as he stretched, his back cracking in a most satisfying way. He padded over soft carpet towards the wardrobe, throwing open the doors to find that En had provided him with a variety of clothes. There was the leather get-up that he had been wearing when he had first arrived on Sakaar (thankfully cleaned and no longer covered in rubbish), as well as something a little more like En's taste: long flowing glittering robes, in a rich shade of green that matched Loki's eyes.

Loki smiled as he ran his fingers over the custom-made robes. He took a long moment to admire the care and craftsmanship that had obviously gone into making the garment, before pulling it on over his tunic. It was lightweight but warm, blanketing him from head to toe like a hug, the dark green glittering like emeralds.

"I thought you look sexy covered in trash, but now you look even sexier – amazing!" said a voice from the door.

Loki turned to see En leaning casually against the doorframe, his brown eyes raking over Loki's green robes appreciatively. Loki smiled, crossing over the room until they were face to face, before planting a gentle kiss on his soulmate's lips. En smiled against his mouth, his hands reaching around to rest on the small of Loki's back, pulling him a little closer. They rested their foreheads together momentarily, before En let out a little laugh, pulling back so he could look Loki properly in the face.

"Last time you were up and about, you were planning on stealing my ship," said En, his eyes glinting wickedly. "Are you still planning on doing that?"

Loki blushed at the memory, embarrassed by it. He cringed internally at his past behaviour, shaking his head.

"No," he said. "Of course not."

"Because you could, you know..." said En, looking at him meaningfully.

Loki stared at him, uncomprehending. What was En getting at? He cocked his head to the side, trying to puzzle out En's strange statement. Slowly, an idea came to him, but it was so bizarre, so outlandish, that it triggered more questions than it answered.

"Are you inviting me to steal your ship?" said Loki.

En's grin widened, apparently pleased that Loki had solved his little riddle so quickly.

"Maybe..." said En. "So long as I can come with you."

A smile slowly spread over Loki's face as En's meaning sank in. He locked his gaze with the other man, finding a mixture of hope and yearning in those beautiful brown eyes.

"Did you just ask me to run away and explore the Universe with you?" said Loki.

En smiled, his voice vibrating with excitement when he next spoke.

"Sure, why not? It'll be an adventure!" he said. "The infamous duo: the Grandmaster and the God of Mischief... You know we'd get into some crazy fun hijinks!"

Loki snorted with laughter, trying to imagine it. It would be eventful, that was for sure; he could not imagine a more fun travelling companion. The thought of gallivanting off through a wormhole to explore the cosmos together excited him – but there was one thing that made him pause for thought.

"Are you sure that's what you want?" said Loki. "Sakaar has been your home for thousands of years. Are you sure you're ready to leave all that behind?"

En shrugged.

"When I first came here, I was feeling lost," he said, before taking Loki's hand with a smile. "I'm not lost anymore; not since I met you."

"You're so sweet it's sickening, did you know that?" said Loki.

"And also, I heard a rumour that the prisoners are planning a rebellion and want to overthrow me," said En, a smirk tugging at his lips. "I'm thinking maybe I should just... let them."

Loki smiled.

"So long as you're sure," he said.

Later, as they flew their ship through the nearest wormhole, Sakaar disappearing from view as they entered that in-between place, where time and space flowed like a river around them, a thought popped into Loki's head, making him smile.

"I've thought of a Word Of The Day," he said.

En immediately clapped his hands together with delight, turning to give Loki his full attention.

"Ooh, my favourite game!" he said. "Tell me!"

"Serendipity," said Loki, saying the word slowly, savouring the syllables on his tongue. "Meaning some unplanned but fortunate discovery."

He paused, thinking back to when he had first crashed through the wormhole onto Sakaar. He had had nothing but disdain for the planet, back then. His only goal had been to get away from there as soon as possible. In his past self's eyes, Sakaar was nothing more than a mountain of trash. Oh, how wrong he had been. In fact, it had housed one of the most precious treasures of his life: En, his soulmate, his one true love.

"Meeting you was serendipity," said Loki. "I ended up on Sakaar by accident, by pure chance. I never dreamt I would meet my soulmate there – but there you were. That's serendipity."

En smiled, and in his eyes were reflected the constellations: stars and planets and comets, a whole Universe for the two of them to explore. He reached out and touched Loki's hand with his own.

"Serendipity," said En. "I like it."

**Author's Note:**

> STORY ARTWORK: This story is based on this artwork (see it on Tumblr [here](https://nonexistenz.tumblr.com/post/638860292659494912) and AO3 [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28219428)) by my extremely talented collaboration partner [nonexistenz](http://nonexistenz.tumblr.com/)! I implore you to check it out. It is absolutely beautiful and I feel so lucky to have been able to write for it as part of the Marvel Reverse Big Bang 2020. Thank you, nonexistenz, for creating this amazing piece of art and for all your cheerleading whilst I wrote this fic!
> 
> MASTERPOST: I've created [this masterpost](https://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/post/638860372367065088/serendipity-a-marvelreversebigbang) on Tumblr to promote this fic and its artwork. If you've enjoyed this story, then please hit that "re-blog" button and share it with your fandom friends!
> 
> THANK YOU: Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this work, please feel free to comment below with your thoughts or hit that kudos button! I love interacting with readers <3
> 
> KEEP IN TOUCH: Don't be a stranger, keep in touch! I am on Tumblr as [ao3-elle1991](http://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/).
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> OTHER STUFF I'VE WRITTEN:
> 
> [Fearless](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8346310) (291,275 words) - A Black Widow origin story, exploring Natasha's life as a Red Room Academy student, KGB agent, SHIELD agent and Avenger - and how she grew to be so much more than any of those labels.
> 
> [Steve And Bucky's Kinky Alphabet](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11776473) (176,544 words) - 26 chapters of alphabetised porn-with-plot featuring Steve and Bucky. Or: the dark fic where JARVIS goes rogue and kidnaps the Avengers, and Steve and Bucky fuck a lot and fall in love.
> 
> [Time After Time](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16652011) (124,026 words) - Steve, Iraq war veteran and long-time loner, feels like his life is stuck in a rut. So, when Natasha invites him to a masquerade party at a kink club, he throws caution to the wind and decides to go. There, he meets the mysterious Winter Soldier.
> 
> [Hot Summer Nights](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24215473) (105,218 words) - Steve enjoys two beautiful weeks in the picturesque English village of Thornton-le-Dale, during the hottest British summer for 50 years. The little B&B he is staying at is gorgeous - as is his fellow guest Bucky, the newly-single hunk staying in the room next door.
> 
> [Vengeance](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7285612) (51,573 words) - Bucky falls from the train. Steve will do anything to take revenge on those responsible for his death - even if it means joining HYDRA.
> 
> [Secrets](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14704965) (40,706 words) - Bucky is a man with a big secret: for 70 years, he was HYDRA's weapon. Now, he is trying to move on with his life and is forming a relationship with Tony. All seems to be going well, until a security breach at SHIELD threatens to expose his past.
> 
> [Memento](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19268359) (31,043 words) - Steve awakes from a coma in a post-apocalyptic world - with no memory. Will he ever remember his past, or why he feels so drawn to fellow survivor Bucky?
> 
> [Dear Steve](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20904116) (16,767 words) - What if Bucky never fell from the train and was never captured and frozen by HYDRA? Dear Steve is a series of love letters written by Bucky for Steve, starting in 1945.
> 
> [Dear Bucky](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22116628) (16,980 words) - Dear Bucky is a series of love letters written by Steve for Bucky, immediately following on from the events of Dear Steve.
> 
> [First Words](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22496665) (11,928 words) - "Handle me? Who are you? You think you're some kind of sorcerer? Don't think for one minute, you second-rate…" Everyone was born with their soulmate's first words on their skin, and that nonsense was Stephen's. However, after finding himself at Kamar-Taj, it suddenly made so much more sense.
> 
> And more... Click my profile to see all my fics! <3


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